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by SepiaWhiskey



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Affairs, Arat Is Dominant, Background Negan (Walking Dead), Bisexual Female Character, Brief Negan, But Negan Doesn't Know, Drabble, F/F, Lesbian Sex, Non-Graphic Smut, Polyamory, Shameless Smut, So yeah, bisexual reader, conflicted - Freeform, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 03:30:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10711263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SepiaWhiskey/pseuds/SepiaWhiskey
Summary: Arat respects Negan completely and utterly, but she cannot help the attraction that drives her to his second favorite wife, Reader.[ Arat / Reader ][ Request at my Tumblr: [ Sepia-Whiskey ]





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**Author's Note:**

> I dunno. Arat is a minor character, technically, but I find her attractive and junk and came up with this idea this morning. Arat needs love too, lol. 
> 
> [ BTW. For those of you that don't know, it was JDM’s birthday yesterday. ]

**Arat was no traitor.**

______

Respected the hell out of Negan and wouldn't swap out her position for anything less - but Arat was a cold liar if she hadn't at least admitted in the walls of her mind that she didn't have a thorough attraction to you - his closest wife next to Sherri. The certain lure of your gait and the wide way your eyes would bare at private mutters by Negan himself, flustered expression poorly concealed. The curve of your hips in your draped skirt and even the cargo pants you used when helping the kitchen of your own accord. You'd proven your sound logic that if Negan ever tired of you, you'd have an honest job in the Sanctuary to keep you.

 

You had several articles of clothing you wore, but the draped skirt, in particular, was a sign that you would be with her that night - if Negan didn't have other, intrusive plans. There was nothing worse than watching him take your waist in hand, bringing you too close for her envious comfort and consuming you.

 

She'd made herself known to you after weeks of staring no longer sufficed, and how quickly you had responded to her less than distinct advances had honestly surprised her. That you even had seen interest in women in hand with men was a pleasant revelation.

 

Wasn't long before she ended up sharing you, thankfully unbeknownst by Negan, _with_ Negan - holding you in her quarters and ushering you out before she was called for her post that would consume her entire day, only slight glimpses of you that would drive her near insanity.

 

She wasn't sure if what she felt for you was love. She was almost afraid for it to be. It would complicate your already precarious endeavors with one another. You had helped her wane from a day of exhaustion and you had a way of making her laugh at times, but things always ended with you under her, panting her name and your nails dragging unintentional marks of ownership to her back. She had never been shit for relationships, but somehow, the most dangerous one seemed to click the best.

 

»

 

She asserts her hands to your breasts amidst the lateness of day, kneading in an aggressive state of envy that sets her heart to a rapid velocity. She cannot blame you for your affiliation with her boss, nor will she ever - and she had never took to asking. It would sadden her if your actions were under duress like some of the others and enrage her if they had simply been voluntarily. Reality was shit enough, so for now she would like to stay in the dark about this tidbit of knowledge.

 

She groans to the back of her throat at the quiet mewl that you exhale, taking the tip of her left glove between her teeth and prying it off, exposing her hand before letting it glide under the bunched fabric of your skirt, fingers grazing the skin of your inner thighs. Her eyes fall down to angle her hand and she looks back up to your writhing figure, mouth agape and panting. She doesn't feel successful as a lover until she hears you take her name in so grunts to her nightly challenge.

 

She shifts up completely until her lips are pressed firmly to the underside of your jaw, teeth moving to nip, a sudden gasp slipping out of your lips before she feels your hands grasping the leather of her coat. With a single hand still kneading, her fingers isolate and pinch your nipple, twisting and nudging. She is quick to tug before you give a soft moan, surprising her by turning her face to meet your eyes, a soft amusement lining your eyes.

 

“You don't have to be so… _fast..”_

 

Your fingers glide to her cheek and she is dumbfounded when you sit up, pulling free from your shirt, letting the straps of your lace nude bra fall. You giggle at the visible effect it has on her and crawl into her personal space, kissing up her jaw before looking at you, lips brushing hers with each honey toned word, “Just...take your time. I'm not going anywhere. I promise.” You can see the binding forces of lust and confliction in her eyes before she closes the gap, kissing you with a passionate idleness that makes you nearly melt into her arms.

 

Much better.

 

Her hands pull you forward, unhooking the back of your bra with ease before you feel the pressure of your bare breasts against the leather of her jacket, hands pushing forward to relieve her of such a restriction, curving hands to the hill of her shoulders, panting for sore when she finally permits it, looking up at her with a flushed face, entire body lit. She regards you with low hanging lids. You swear she is maneuvering where she will strike next, investigating any to every inch before her hands extend the back pockets of her pants. You swear you know what's coming but feign ignorance pushing back into a kiss she denies you. You pout, biting your bottom lip, “Arat…”

 

“Going at my pace, remember?”

 

You hear the familiar growl of domination in her voice when she utters these words, shuddering with a nod, extending your wrists to her grip. One hand gloves in contrast to the other, she pries free the small extension of rope she had stashed when she knew you were coming. You gasp when she handles you, your back to her as she binds your hands, pulling the hair of your nape to bring your face back, “Fake or fingers?”

 

Your mind races to the impressive dildo stashed in her drawer but decline and whimper, “Fingers.”

 

She pulls you back so that you lay on your back in her lap, her hands running over your skirt. She threatens to creep under but instead takes a firm grasp onto the fabric, exposing your legs and panties. The intention arouses her. You wore these for her. Knew what they did to her and purposely wore them to assert your mutual attraction.

 

Christ, she didn't know whether to envy or hate whoever did your laundry after nights like this.

 

Moved to say little else, she steadies your upper body with a hand between your breasts, gloved hand slipping to the divide of your core, indenting a space for herself and immediately darting her gaze to your expression, eyebrow cocked. Your back pitches in a subtle arch, breath suddenly strained to the smoothness of the glove. Now that she was in, she wouldn't be pulling away anytime soon. Likely satisfied, she turns back and begins to let her finger drag vertically - a soft wet sound occurring quickly. You flush in embarrassment when she briefly takes the leather clad finger up, looking to the glistening coating of your arousal, running down the length of her tongue, taking it back with a heavier indent, slipping into you without warning.

 

You gasp, back arching suddenly, “Arat.”

 

She smirks, “Hm?”

 

For grueling seconds that feel like hours, she teases to press further but only taunts your hole, grazing your clit and wasting time. She's taking your words and using them against you. She's taking her time.

 

You twitch in your binds and look up at her, “Please fuck me. Please.”

 

You see that rarely witnessed cockiness of your girlfriend(?) before she extends her gloved finger further into your core and begins to pump, no reluctance to adding a second finger seconds later, watching you all the while. She groans to your writhing frame, is wet to the sight of your open mouth moaning her name in a growing coil that she sees building within you, daring a third finger that visibly affects you, a sudden cry of pleasure overcoming you. She tenses to your volume and glances to her door, turning back and shushing you softly, pulling out of you briefly before you can cry with an idea in mind.

 

She flattens your body to the bed, reclaiming her place on top of you once again with your panting face desperate. She honestly feels bad at this point and nearly tears the zipper of her pants off, fed up with waiting and unable to take the time to free herself completely of her under garments, reapproaching in her shirt and panties, bi-colored hair hanging low in her face before she angles herself so that your core presses to her slanted thigh and her core to yours, hands to either side of your head before she looks down, “Now we’ll finish.”

 

“Ara-” Her mouth slams against yours and all at once, the world loses its stability when she begins to grind, the mutual reception of pleasure sending you both in euphoric omissions of moans and whimpers. You feel desperate to touch her, whimpering to your restrictions before you feel that same coil of pleasure building, crying in her mouth, “I’m - I’m getting -”  
  
“I know, baby…” she manages out, stroking harder, demanding breathes to her mouth, “I know. So am I. You need to wait though, ok?” You nod to the demand, biting to the point of ache down on your lip, toes grasping the small wrinkles of the sheets under your, head turned away, “I - I can’t hold it anymore!” She takes balance on one hand, you're familiar scent on the gloved hand that forces your gaze back to hers, growling with a passion, though undermined by the break of pleasure, “Cum with me, baby girl. Just cum with me now.”  Arat is a master of restraining her  moans and orgasms to a minimum and must cap her lips over yours to cease your untamed expression of pleasure - a nearly full on scream as you cry out her name, entire body erupting, twitching to the aftermath. You give a soft “oof” when she collapses onto your still restricted figure, catching her own breath. The comfortable silence of release remains for a few minutes before you look at her, “My hands.”

 

She snorts but says nothing beyond this, rising slowly and pulling your body to hers, amused by the involuntary limpness of you, letting you go, kissing you heavily before pulling back, forehead to yours as you ran your fingers to her face, soft laugh coming out before you let your gaze fall to your exposed bottom, “I’m sorry I’m so loud.”

 

“Shit,” she scoffs, looking into your eyes, “I must be doing something right.”

 

She’s not one to laugh, but you manage a small smile out of her that is tainted with the remnants of a smirk when you laugh. She kisses your neck a moment before setting hands to either of your cheeks, affirming eye contact, “You’re mine. I don’t care what you do with him. You’re _mine._ ” You nod and run your hands over her nape, pulling her closer to you, “I’m yours. But only under the condition that you’re mine.”

 

“No shit.”

 

You laugh, pulling away, “I’m gonna clean up a little. I like the way you look with just your shirt so go ahead and stay like that.” She smirks and shoots forward, causing you to fall on your back again, arms around her neck as she hangs close, “If you like it, then I guess I can keep it on. Just for tonight.”

 

“Oh, I’m ever so grateful.”

 

She watches you laugh and lets a small smile come over her, leaning and landing a small kiss on your cheek. Confliction took her by the collar and she concluded that while she cared for you a great deal, she was still unsure as to whether or not she was in love. Regardless of what was or what she had never known to the strongest extent, she is sure that while she might not be current in the midst of love, the growing affinity between you two certainly felt like the making of an infatuation, and mutual infatuation had a way of elevating itself into the very thing she was unsure of.

 

For now. Having you was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't wrote smut in a while. I was feeling smutty this morning. Do NOT shame me.


End file.
